If the Original Team retaliated against a rookie Trainer who had crossed them, it would almost certainly draw the attention of the League's Security Officers. But if they were to go after the successor of a Ground-type master — that was a different matter entirely. The high-ranking officials within the League would not take it quietly.
Even if "Withered Earth" could only be considered an observer these days, the senior members of the League were old — not dead. Even the younger, sharper officials currently holding power would not stand for a terrorist organization openly moving against a respected veteran of the League.
Bone Head's seemingly reckless suggestion had not been genuine. It was a quiet test of the Great Master — one built on information that no one else at the table was holding.
After all, while the Original Team's grand vision had been preached internally for years, very few among its ranks truly held that vision as a personal calling. It was fair to say that the Great Master, as a regional leader, might genuinely believe in it. But Bone Head did not.
In fact, among the ten cadres present, the only one who might actually take that ideal to heart was Rene, who followed every rule to the letter.
The rest of them were pulling in a few hundred thousand a month. Why throw their lives away?
When the Security Officers launched a full sweep, sending a Baxcalibur into the sky to fire off a couple of Icy Winds was more than enough to justify the paycheck.
When it came down to it, the Original Team's losses this time were Taylor's own doing. His greed over someone else's venom formula had caused him to expose himself. The man was talented in a lab — quick with test tubes and confident behind a workbench — but when it came to people and politics, his thinking ran in a straight line.
In Bone Head's view, he had brought it on himself.
The Great Master seemed to share that quiet sentiment.
Because the Great Master showed no real interest in the young Trainer who had singlehandedly brought Taylor down, and no desire to avenge him either. The orders were simple: Rene was to locate a more suitable production site for the compound as soon as possible, and Weasel was to assist Robbin in wrapping up the cleanup work.
From that alone, Bone Head could piece together why Robbin had not shown up to the meeting.
Whatever the Great Master had said about Robbin being occupied with a separate mission, the reality was plain enough — Robbin was mopping up Taylor's mess. The disaster Taylor had left behind needed to be fully dealt with, and Robbin was the most capable of the remaining cadres for exactly that kind of job.
Just as Bone Head's thoughts began to drift, the meeting drew to a close. The shadow representing the Great Master rose first, and the ten cadres followed suit without a word.
This was a fixed part of every meeting's ending. The Great Master always led the closing rite in person, as a reminder of what the Original Team stood for.
"Expel every Pokémon from this world," the Great Master declared, "until not a single one remains!"
The cadres answered in unison: "A prosperous future belongs to humanity!"
Nova knew nothing of that meeting, or of the organization that had held it.
After returning to Harmony City that day, the only thing on his mind was getting into his bed and sleeping for as long as his body would let him.
The trip itself had been spent almost entirely on Garchomp's back, but flying for nearly ten hours round-trip had been more than enough to drain him completely.
On top of that, Mort had proven to be somewhat less than reliable for the journey home. The old man had simply fallen asleep mid-flight, while Garchomp cruised at full speed several hundred meters above the ground.
Nova understood well enough that Mort was getting on in years, that energy didn't come as easily as it once had, and that a bond with a partner as steady as Garchomp would make anyone feel safe enough to doze off. But the ease with which the old man slept meant a great deal of trouble for Nova.
He wasn't about to let an elderly man topple off a Garchomp in mid-air, not when it was happening right in front of him. So while Mort slept the entire way home without a care in the world, Nova had kept one hand locked onto the back of the old man's belt the whole time, quietly terrified that Mort might shift in his sleep and begin an unplanned descent.
In short, Nova had barely slept at all. He was still young, though, and his body could handle it. He pushed through the tiredness and got to work preparing lunch for his Pokémon.
He hadn't forgotten the Purrloin he had rented, so he set aside a portion for her as well.
Since Sprigatito already had the Contrary ability — along with a personality that lived up to it — Nova had gotten into the habit of mixing a small amount of food suited to Dark-type Pokémon into her daily meals, to keep her Dark-type energy balanced. Adding Purrloin to the routine was easy enough. One extra bowl, a little more of the same, and it was done.
Out in the backyard, the large and thoroughly well-fed Nidoking had been stretched out on the grass all afternoon. Nova hauled the oversized feeding bowl across the yard and gave the big Pokémon a firm nudge with his foot to get him moving.
"Arno, you're going to lose all your conditioning lying around like that," Nova said. "You've got a whole shooting range out here — wouldn't it be better to use it while you have the time?"
The Nidoking raised his head with a deeply unimpressed look and lumbered toward the bowl.
"I'm guarding the house," Arno replied, with all the dignity of someone who considered this an exhausting and thankless task. "That's real work. And that little range isn't worth the effort — if I use Earthquake, the Security Officers will be at the gate before I finish the move."
Nova watched the Nidoking bury his face in a bathtub-sized bowl and could not quite figure out what exactly was so demanding about lying in the grass digesting a morning meal.
Corviknight was another story. With no flying duties today, it had taken a full day off entirely — absent at lunch, not home, almost certainly perched on some distant hilltop somewhere in the mountains, picking fights with wild Pokémon that were no match for it.
It had been like this ever since evolving. Nova had sometimes wondered whether all those years spent as a stray in the mountains, being pushed around by wild Pokémon, had left a mark. Corviknight seemed to be making up for lost time.
Stepping back inside, Nova found the smaller Pokémon considerably easier to deal with.
Growlithe was as content as ever, happily working through its meal without a thought in the world.
Sprigatito, on the other hand, appeared to have been provoked by Purrloin's presence. The little Grass Cat was putting on a performance at her bowl — sitting with perfect posture, eating with deliberate, delicate movements, as though she were a refined lady rather than a Pokémon who regularly hissed at strangers. Every second bite, however, she turned and fixed Purrloin with a pointed glare that made her real feelings quite clear.
Purrloin had started cautiously, taking small, careful bites and pausing between each one. Her large eyes swept the room slowly, as though she were still trying to work out what exactly was going on. Her tail — curved and pointed like a little hook — swayed back and forth with a steady, pendulum rhythm.
When Nova came back in from the backyard, Purrloin turned and let out a quiet, questioning sound.
"Is this for me?" she seemed to be asking.
"Of course it is," Nova said, setting down the cloth he'd been carrying. "I certainly don't eat cat food."
The answer didn't seem to clear things up for her.
She turned back to the bowl, took another small bite, then looked over at him again — but he had already moved on and was washing up the cooking utensils at the sink.
With no one watching her, Purrloin glanced once at Growlithe, who was eating with the kind of focused enthusiasm that left no room for self-consciousness, and quietly did the same. She took a long, unhurried mouthful of the best food she had eaten in her entire life.
And then, without any warning at all, two fat tears rolled straight down her face.
Sprigatito had been winding up to hiss at her again. She stopped halfway through.
"Hold on," Sprigatito said flatly, staring at the Purrloin. "What is this? You're crying over a bowl of food now? That's your big move? If you're that committed to the performance, maybe swim across to Unova and see if they'll give you a ribbon for it."
Nova looked over from the sink, equally puzzled.
Was his cooking really that moving? Enough to bring the legendary lock-picker to tears on the very first bite?